


A Dollar Short

by RedAthena79



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, F/M, Permanent Haitus, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2007-08-29
Updated: 2007-09-13
Packaged: 2017-12-14 00:42:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/830717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedAthena79/pseuds/RedAthena79
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam is on a mission to save Dean. Dean is on a mission to save Jo. Jo is on a mission to save herself. Only one of them will succeed.</p><p>Occurs sometime during Season 3.  </p><p>Originally published 08-29-07 at ff.net.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It's been almost ten months to the day that Dean Winchester made his deal with that bitch of a demon. Painted himself into one shit filled corner. But he figures it's worth it just to see his baby brother up and about in the world of the living. If he could just get Sam to accept this fate that Dean's chosen...

Right now Dean's sitting in a hard wooden chair while Sam tears furiously through a dead woman's private library. He'd say it again but it would be a waste of breath. It's no use, Sammy. Just give it up. And he doesn't want to get into another fight. He watches Sam as he tosses yet another book to the carpeted floor having declared it useless.

It takes another half hour of this before Dean's impatience propels him out of his chair. He's sick of sitting and saying nothing while his brother drags him from one random town to another searching for a loophole they both know doesn't exist. He wants to be hunting. Sending things that don't belong in this world packing. Go down fighting, dragging every son of a bitch monster he can get his hands on with him into Hell.

Dean says as much and watches the line of Sam's mouth go tight. Good, he thinks. Dean's ready for a fight even if it's with his own brother. And there in that damp and dusty study they argue like they haven't argued in years. It's a shouting match equal to the one that drove Sammy off to Stanford and left Dean alone with their prideful, angry, heart-broken father.

Dean's going to spend what's left of his time hunting. Sammy won't go with him. Says he's close. Says he knows the answer is just around the corner. Just a few more things to check out.

Dean looks at his brother and feels a kind of numbness. He can't bring himself to care anymore. He's already walking towards the car. There are no goodbyes here. They just give their back to each other. Outside a storm has picked up and its thunder and howling winds drown out retreating footsteps, the flipping of pages, and the turning of an engine.


	2. Chapter 2

Three weeks and nearly a dozen kills later find Dean hurriedly shoving his things into short duffel bag. The sun slants a pale yellow into his dingy motel room. Dean looks up from his packing at through the stained slats of the room's cheap blinds. Still a good eight hours 'til sunset. Between his shoulder and his ear is wedged his phone. Ellen's voice comes through tinny but unmistakably panicked. The uncharacteristic fear coming from Ellen is enough to make Dean want to vomit. And if it wasn't her tone then her words might finally do the trick.

_Jo._

_Hunting._

_Hunted back._

_Find her, Dean. ___

_Oh god. Please. Find her._

He's leaving right now, he tells her. He'll find her. He ends the call and shoves his phone into his back pocket. He throws open the door and the sun's blazing light throws him off for a moment. A few seconds later when the spots have cleared enough for him to see what he sees catches him just as off guard as the sun. It's Sam practically running towards him.

"We've got to go, Dean."

No shit, Dean says. He wonders to himself when Ellen called Sam. Out loud he notes that even with the eight or so hours it's going to be close. At Sam's look of confusion Dean realizes they're not talking about the same thing. Christ. Not again.

Sam's asking for his keys. Dean shakes his head. He can't do this right now. He's got to get to Jo. He's trying to tell Sam that there is no more time to waste. Especially not for more of the same pointless trips to the middle of nowhere and rituals based on crap filled urban mythology. Their friend is in real trouble. Needs their help right now. The other shit can wait.

He says this as he tries to shove past his stubborn, jackass wall of a brother. Sam shoves back and Dean finds himself still a few yards from the Impala. He starts towards the car again. He looks up to glare at Sam. He feels a certain smugness when he sees Sam register that Dean will not be in any way, shape or form cooperating. It doesn't once occur to Dean that he might not have a choice. At least not until he sees his brother hammy fist flying right towards his face.


	3. Chapter 3

Dollar Short: Chapter 3

Dean wakes up to find the world spinning around him. He's on his feet but as he tries to take a step forward he finds that he can't.

_Tied to a goddamned stake?_

He wonders what the hell Sam's up to. His stomach clenches at the thought of another possession. He swings his head around trying to scan as much of the surrounding area as possible. It's dark. The sun must have set hours ago. But he can still make out the shape of trees. Lots of trees. So he's been tied to a stake and left in the middle of a freaking forest. He pulls in a deep breath and then bellow for his bastard of a brother.

Only a handful of crickets and an irritated owl answer.

Above him Dean can see the moon high and full in the night sky. The full moon. _Shit!_ His brother ties a mean knot and god knows that until said brother (or possibly a wandering hiker, but that's unlikely) decides to cut him loose he isn't going anywhere. Dean struggles against the ropes anyway. He has to get the fuck out of here. Has to get to Jo.

He yells again for Sam. And again. And again. And on the fifth or sixth yell, when the echo of his brother's name fades away, Dean hears what sounds suspiciously like chanting. _Oh come on, not this crap again._

The chanting gets louder or possibly closer. It's gone pitch black and Dean can't see shit. And just when he thinks his eyes have adjusted to the now moonless world around him a torch flares into life. Dean swears as he tries to avoid the light and ends up smacking his head hard against that damn post. The chanting continues and more torches burst into flames. Dean can hear but can't quite make out what's being said over the crackle and hiss of the flames. All the while the flames grow taller and brighter.

There's heat at his back and it's starting to get a little uncomfortable. After a minute or two it gets more than uncomfortable. Another minute and Dean knows that he skin is probably an angry red beneath the fabric of his jean jacket and shirt. Again he tugs against the ropes trying to get away from scorching heat.

And then all at once the flames leap to an impossible height. Dean screams as the clothes on his back as well as the stake he's tied to catch alight. There's a deafening crack and the world around him disappears in a brilliant flash of white light.


	4. Chapter 4

He wakes up and daylight is forcing its way through a frosted window. The gauzy curtains framing the window float in a breeze blowing from a quiet fan. And at first nothing seems wrong with the world. In fact Dean feels kind of comfortable. Strangely unburdened. Freakishly relaxed.

For the second time in less than twenty-four hours Dean wonders where the hell he is. Everything is still somewhat shrouded by something not unlike the fog of a hangover only minus the headache and the need to vomit. Things feel a little off but not unpleasantly so. The bed he's in is ridiculously soft and smells nothing like piss or sex or any combination of the two. Actually, it smells vaguely of flowers. He wonders briefly if there's some pretty young thing...

A chill sweeps through him and his stomach clenches almost painfully. In his head he knows he's too late. Knows that whatever was going to happen must have happened hours ago. But he has to go anyway. Has to try to do something, anything. It's Jo for God's sake.

So Dean finds himself cursing loudly at his absent brother even as he wrenches himself out of the bed. He knocks a vase off a night stand and smacks his elbow against the fan as he scrambles to find his jacket and shove his feet into his boots. Within minutes the frosted windows rattle as the Impala's engine roars to life and Dean speeds off in a cloud of dust.

**Author's Note:**

> I started this thing back in 2007 when I was a free-wheeling, just-for-kicks globe-trotting young thing. Jet lag is both the coffee for my muse and the glue that keeps me at my writing desk. But then the traveling stopped and grad school started...
> 
> I honestly can't say whether I'll ever add anything more to this story. Too much has gone on in the show since the last time I really watched. (What's with all the angels and is Sam some kind of junkie?) I wouldn't even know where to start. 
> 
> But, oh man, I had such plans for this fic. Werewolves, witchcraft, horrifying communicable diseases! It was going to be epic. Epic in length with absolutely no guarantees of any sort of literary quality, heh.
> 
> The only reason I'm putting this up here now is because I have a fondness for 'what if's'. Maybe I will, maybe I won't (I probably won't) but at least I'll have the option to finish it someday.


End file.
